


Reign of the Christmas Sweaters

by ArmedWithMyComputer



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: my excuse for fun in an apocolaypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmedWithMyComputer/pseuds/ArmedWithMyComputer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Since it's winter… The group finding embarrassing sweaters but they are the only clothes they can find.</p>
<p>In which Daryl almost becomes an icicle, other survivors have no need for Christmas jumpers, and Glenn is horrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reign of the Christmas Sweaters

It was the middle of winter, and they were all barely hanging on.

Daryl stood still as a statue at the edge of 'camp,' crossbow in hand, keeping watch. The others were bundled up in all the clothes they could find, odd sweaters and worn jackets, but he was stubbornly sticking to his sleeveless shirts, even in the depts of the season.

To his credit, none of the others could claim to ever have seen him shiver. There was sometimes a slight bluish tinge to his lips when he returned from hasty hunts, but neither Lori nor Carol's pleads could persuade the man to put on a jumper.

But despite Daryl's seeming refusal to give into the weather, the rest of the group were freezing, and Rick knew that he had to find a solution soon.

Carl was wearing all of Daryl's spare shirts, even a one with sleeves, over his own clothing. Beth and Maggie went back and forward between Glenn's spare clothes, and Hershel's jacket. Carol was wearing T-Dog's spare clothing, and Rick had already given all of his clothes but the ones on his back to Lori.

They'd lost most of their clothes at the farm, and winter had just closed in on them so suddenly.

Rick had meant to organise a supply run, he really had, but the walkers seemed to be closing in on them from all angles, and there wasn't time. The few houses that they'd hit had been picked clean, only a mothballed blanket or two remaining – which they'd gladly taken. But no winter clothing.

A low whistle from Daryl had everyone moving quickly and efficiently, tired expressions on their faces, as they piled back into the cars. A dozen or so walkers were stumbling towards them, Daryl scoffing at the pitiful herd, while Rick double-checked to be sure Carl was in the car.

"Let's move out!" He called out, and then the cars started moving.

Their small convoy was on the move, the constant need to never stop for more than a few minutes never ending.

Rick looked back once more, to see Carl shivering and pressing against his mother in an attempt at warmth, and he frowned. This wasn't right. Carl hadn't complained outright once about the cold, not even a whine or whimper, but the look of joy on his son's face when Daryl had tossed him the thin shirts had been saddening.

They had to do something fast.

.

That evening, when they were all huddled by a small fire, crouched at the side of a road, Daryl coughed.

It was a deep, painful sounding cough. One that would have signified the beginnings of pneumonia and laryngitis before the world had ended, and it made everyone look up in surprise. Daryl just scowled back at them, and pushed away their concerns.

"Ain't nothin', jus' a stupid cough. No need ta look like I've got tha' plague or nothin'." Daryl's face was flushed red, his hair ruffled, and his voice fading.

Hershel kept his head low, and said carefully without looking at Daryl, "Sounds like you're getting sick, son." He received a glare in reply, Daryl looking as if he was about to begin disputing that fact.

But Carol was frowning back at him, and Lori was jerking her head at Rick, and he closed his eyes briefly. "Daryl, that sounds like you should get some rest. I'll cover your watch tonight, you need to sleep that off before it gets any worse." The other man opened his mouth in protest, but he cut him off before he could say anything, "And for God's sake, put on a sweater or something already. You're making everyone cold."

Daryl tried to reply, attempted to retaliate with what would probably have been a volley of insults and swears, but the minute he opened his mouth, he was seized by another coughing fit. This one lasted longer, and when it was done, he seemed to fold in on himself.

Rick stared him down for a few moments, Daryl narrowing his eyes back at him. No one said a word when he stood up slowly, his face guarded and scowling, and stomped back over to the cars.

The car door slammed behind him, and Rick could only roll his eyes as Daryl planted his two boots firmly onto the backseat window, as he lay on his back across the backseat. Beth giggled slightly, saying softly, "That's going to leave a mark."

The rest of the group could only watch worriedly, as the first of them was felled by the coldness, and Rick shook his head.

"Okay, that's it. First thing tomorrow, we're going on a supply run to get some proper clothes."

.

Rick jolted awake early the next morning, and instantly shivered. This was getting ridiculous.

He strode out into the middle of the group, and over to where Glenn had the map out. "What've we got to work with?"

"Strip mall about a mile out, housing estate bit further than that, and… I think a small town in that direction." Glenn reported, running his thin fingers over the map. "That's about all we can make in a day, unless you want to make it an overnight trip."

Looking over at the rest of the group, Rick shook his head, "Can't risk an overnight. We'll head for the mall."

Daryl met his eyes carefully as he walked over, still in his sleeveless shirt. "Where we h-heading?" His voice gave out during the second half of the sentence, and his face creased slightly, his throat clearly sore from the whopper of a cold. A harsh cough was ripped out of him, but Daryl was still waiting for an answer when he straightened out.

"You're not going anywhere, not with that cold. I'm serious, Daryl, you're just going to get sicker. Plus, I need you back here, to protect the camp."

The other man's eyes blazed with anger, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Rick tried to hide his smile, as Daryl attempted to speak, but could only make quiet gasps. Glenn let out a snort, and clapped Daryl on the back, "Looks like you've lost your voice after all… guess you're wishing you wore sleeves now."

Rick shrugged, and waved T-Dog over, "Sorry, Daryl, you're staying."

.

An hour later, they were in the car and on the road.

Glenn was still smiling about Daryl losing his voice, while T-Dog recounted the story of how Daryl had thrown a can of peas at Carl when the boy had laughed at him, "… it hit him right in the backside, as Carl was running away. That guy has serious aim, I mean, Carl was at least five metres away, and—"

"Okay, focus, guys." Rick interrupted them as they neared the strip mall, and slowed the car, "Remember, no guns if possible, it's just a quick in and out. We're aiming for anything that'll last through winter, clothes mainly. I don't care what they look like, as long as it's warm and durable. Food, of course, is essential as well. Ready?"

They slipped out of the car, staying low and silent.

Rick took out a female walker, the knife splitting through her skull, and ducked to avoid the worst of the blood splatter. The rotting body fell to the ground as they moved in closer to the discount store.

A bell tinkled as they entered the shop, making the three men freeze, but nothing seemed to be moving towards them. The store was in ruins, barely anything salvageable remaining. Blood was painted everywhere, on the walls and floor, but they'd leant to ignore that kind of thing, and continued to move carefully through the empty shelves.

He managed to find two cans of peaches, when T-Dog let out a whistle, from where he was searching the supply room.

T-Dog was holding up a box with clothes spilling out of it, and Rick beamed at the sight. From the size of the box, it looked like everyone would be getting new sweaters. "This is all that's left," T-Dog said in a quiet voice, and then nodded towards the now empty supply room, "Everything else has been cleaned out already.

"We'll take it," Rick grinned, but the smile fell off his face within seconds as a whistle came from the outside. Glenn was keeping watch, and that was the walker signal.

Just as they were on their way to the door, Glenn stuck his head around the door, and whispered urgently, "Hurry, a herd's coming."

They ran then, and made it back to the car in time to speed away from the grey hand grabbing at them. Glenn was driving, excitedly asking them what was in the box like a child at Christmas, "C'mon, what is it? What is it? Is it food? Or, oh man, did you get clothes?"

"Just the finest winter jumpers the dollar store could provide," T-Dog said, peering inside the box to properly inspect the clothing, "It just feels so warm, and…" His voice changed to one of horror as he pulled one of the jumpers out, and held it up to the cold afternoon light.

Rick glanced over to see what the problem was, and almost choked.

The puke green coloured jumper was covered in a dozen multi-coloured blobs of fluff. It was almost as if… "It's supposed to be… a Christmas tree?" Glenn said with a note of horror in his voice as he, too, turned around to stare at the monstrosity.

"Oh God," T-Dog said, almost unable to tear his eyes away from the jumper, "This is the most ugly thing I've ever seen."

.

They pulled over the car then, to inspect each of the jumpers, and their horror grew with each new find.

One of the sweaters had a huge reindeer face on it, complete with a 3-D bright red nose. Another was just a mess of lopsided snowmen sewn onto a luminescent pink background. It took them a while to figure that one out, as the pink was too startling, and the snowmen resembled bowling pins.

"What have we done?" Glenn moaned, as he threw a particularly garish yellow 'present' sweater into the backseat, "The group's going to hate us… hell, I hate us."

Rick swallowed hard as he stared at disgusting orange sweater, with an unappealing looking Christmas pudding on it, and wrinkled his face in distaste, "These sweaters are… warm. They may be ugly, but they'll do us for the winter. There's even enough for everyone."

T-Dog shook his head slowly, "No wonder these were left in the place."

.

"I ain't fuckin' wearing that."

Rick caught the sweater as it was thrown back at him, and frowned at Daryl. The other man's voice was barely audible and it sounded extremely painful for him to even get those words out, but Daryl wasted no time in giving his opinion on the item of clothing.

"C'mon, it's not that bad… It's warm and durable."

The sweater really was that bad. It was one of the only ones big enough to fit the man, a bright red one, with long sleeves. There was a huge Santa face covering most of the sweater, the beard made more noticeable by the white fluff that was stuck to it. Down the arms of the sweater, were white stripes, to make the sleeves seem like candy canes. The Santa seemed to be jeering at them all, his grotesque smile seeming disconcerting as Rick stared down at it.

Daryl snorted painfully, and said weakly, "We'll see how fuckin' durable it is when I burn it. I ain't wearin' it, Rick."

"Just put it on. I know you're cold, and you're going to get really sick as well," Daryl shook his head again, but Rick continued stubbornly, "Who's going to hunt when you get so sick that you can't even get out of the car? The group is only barely hanging on because of the fresh meat you bring."

It was a cheap shot, playing on Daryl's role in the group, but Rick knew he had to do it. He threw the sweater back at Daryl, who held it in his hands for a moment, looking like he would prefer to just shoot himself.

"I'll set Carol on you if you don't put that on right now, Daryl Dixon."

Letting out a stream of insults, which Rick could barely hear due to Daryl's fading voice; Daryl pulled the sweater on with a look of pure fury on his face.

The man then turned to stomp off somewhere, still cursing, and Rick had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep himself from making any noise. On the back of Daryl's jumper, there were dozens of fuzzy Christmas lights sewn on, arranged in a pattern so they made up the words MERRY CHRISTMAS.

.

Around him, all the others were putting on the sweaters, with varying degrees of disgust on their faces.

Beth was giggling at the comical but also terrifying elves covering almost every inch of her chalky grey sweater, while Hershel seemed impassive as he closed his eyes and appreciated the warmth the embarrassing bauble sweater gave him.

Rick couldn't help him from bursting out into laughter, when he looked around and saw the whole group wearing the ridiculous but warm sweaters, embarrassed smiles on their faces as they laughed along with him. Well, except for Daryl.

He stood at the edge of the group, scowling more than Rick had ever seen him, a look of pure disgust on his face as he looked down in horror at the Santa face marring his chest.

And then Rick just laughed even harder.

.

Daryl wore the sweater for a whole two days.

After then, his voice came back, and his cold seemed to disappear, a fact which he proved to Rick by chewing him out loudly for getting those damn sweaters in the first place. Then Daryl proceeded to yank the sweater off faster than Rick thought was possible, and throw it into the flames of the campfire.

The others laughed in a bemused manner, as the flames danced around the Santa face, and Daryl smirked.

The reign of the Christmas sweaters lasted for another month, during which group members could be identified at a distance from the colour of their sweaters. Maggie's was a dirty cream colour, with unappealing grey snowflakes that looked like melted stick people, Glenn's was a mixture of dark yellow and purple, and the list went on.

Rick looked back on those memories with a smile, as he recalled the teasing and humor that had come out of the whole scenario.

All because no one else had wanted the worst Christmas sweaters, even at the end of the world.


End file.
